


We Gotta Hide What We're Doin'

by CharWright5



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (kind of), (sort of dom/sub I guess technically), Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bodyguard Derek Hale, Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, Brief mentions of past murders, Crime Families, Dom Derek, Dom/sub, Enforcer Derek Hale, Face-Fucking, I'm sure I'm missing something I'm just drawing a blank, Irish Derek Hale, Irish Mob, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Son Stiles, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Polish Mafia, Secret Relationship, Self-Lubrication, Sub Stiles, Tattooed Derek Hale, barely there general references to torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 01:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: As a Bodyguard within the StilinskiRodzina, Derek's one and only job is to watch over the Omega son—and only child—of the Family's Head, Stiles, a task that is easier said than done some nights. It's just good that the Alpha knows the best way to punish the little troublemaker when his bratty behavior threatens to expose a secret that could get the Bodyguard killed.





	We Gotta Hide What We're Doin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneErikaBrady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneErikaBrady/gifts).



> Commission for the beautiful Janey, who requested ABO BDSM with [this NSFW gif](https://t.co/njSbFQhiHN) and the prompt "All this sneaking around is gonna get us into trouble". And while originally my idea was to do a Detective Derek fic, I read an Otayuri Mafia doujinshi and then a mlm novel involving the son of a Yakuza boss falling for a Korean mobster trying to take over Kyoto and...yeah. _Mafia AU_. Janey was nice enough to let me roll with this idea and natch, I got a bit carried away with worldbuilding. Sorry.
> 
> Title is from _I Think We're Alone Now_ , most famously done by Tiffany, but I had the Hidden Citizens cover in mind when I wrote this.
> 
> All Polish, Irish, and Gaelic-Irish terms that are not translated within the text will be at the end. If something is misspelled or misused, please let me know. I used Google translate and other sites of terms for it all.
> 
> Also Happy Birthday, Tyler Hoechlin... ???!!!

Stilinski Manor was a large mansion on the north side of Beacon Hills on the outskirts of town. The entire property added up to roughly ten acres, most of it undeveloped and wooded, purchased more for privacy and security than anything else.

That wasn't to say it was completely wild and unkempt. There were a few guest homes scattered about, loaned out to specific people in the Inner Circle, as well as a baseball field, basketball court, pool, tennis court, and a few shooting ranges for various types of weaponry. The entire property was surrounded by thick cement walls topped with barbed wire, guard towers and security cameras placed intermittently along it.

The house itself was located a couple miles off the main road, where every vehicle was searched by bomb-sniffing dogs, guards with mirrors they ran under the transport, IDs scanned and lists checked. Derek had long since gotten used to it as he sat in the back of the blacked out Escalade, windows tinted to just this side of legal, bulletproof and thick. It was a hassle, but he understood the reasoning behind it, understood the paranoia behind the intense and thorough checks.

The Stilinskis had a lot of enemies who would stop at nothing to harm any single one of them.

Another check-point happened two miles in, but they were able to go through without stopping, the guard at this outpost recognizing the plates, as well as having been told by the first group that they were coming. They knew better than to stop this vehicle, the driver, Boyd, a loyal member, one of the passengers, Derek, a long-time member of the _Rodzina_ , and the other, the _Syn_.

As the steel gate closed behind them and Boyd pulled the SUV closer to the main residence, Derek peered out the window, trying to take in as much of it as he could through the dark glass. The driveway ahead of them turned into a circle, surrounding a large three tiered fountain that belonged in the center of some old European city rather than this hidden property in northern California, the top of it an angel pouring water out of a jug. Derek remembered snorting the first time he'd laid eyes on it, finding it ironic considering how the _Rodzina_ made its money.

How his own family had made theirs.

The house itself was three stories—four if one included the basement—made of red brick, the black slated roof peaked and slanting forward. Four long steps led up to a wide porch with large white columns, perfectly symmetrical, like the rest of the building itself.

His birth family's home had been bigger, made of gray brick in a more British manner, given the fact that they were originally Irish immigrants who brought old habits to this new world.

He'd never fooled himself into believing these European descendants were any different, although he'd been surprised at just how successful they were. Then again, Polish mobs weren't as well known as the Irish, Russian, or Italian versions. The Stilinskis had been able to fly under the radar for generations, known and feared within the underground, largely ignored by the community at large and law enforcement who could never pin any of them down.

Derek found himself lost in thought, hand absently rubbing at his whiskered jaw and the fresh bruise forming on it, the dried blood cracking over knuckles that had long since been scarred over. His eyes dropped to the black tattoos on his fingers, his right hand featuring a triskele, an anchor, a wolf paw, and a Greek Alpha symbol. His left fingers were adorned with his surname, all in Celtic knot font, tattoos he'd had done at age seventeen, when he was still a member of the Hale Family. The _Szeryf_ had allowed the ink to stay, the connection to remain, both as a sign of respect to the other Family as well as a symbol that Derek wasn't one to be fucked with.

Not that his reputation didn't already precede him in that aspect. Still, with his job, it couldn't hurt to have the extra measure.

As the SUV began to round the circular drive, Derek thought back to the first time he'd made this journey, freshly eighteen and given over to the Stilinski _Rodzina_ , fingers now absently rubbing at his rough knuckles. He'd been fighting since he was a kid, getting kicked out of countless private schools before his uncle took him in at age fourteen, claiming that Derek was in need of a better outlet for the natural rage that came with being an Alpha.

Over the next couple years, Derek was taught not only how to fight better, but about various weaponry, too. He was taught how to load, handle, shoot, dissemble, and clean guns. He was taught how to sheath a knife, how to hide it on his person, use it in a fight, the places to stab and slice that would take his opponent out with one blow, how to avoid getting sliced and diced himself—mainly by his uncle coming at him with a knife of his own. At age sixteen, he was put to work, racking up an impressive kill rate of his own and a fearsome reputation letting all know that when he showed, it wasn't gonna end well for them.

Then, barely a week after he'd turned eighteen, his mother and head of the Family had told him that he was joining the Stilinski _Rodzina_ as part of a deal. The Hales would gain much needed weapons and ammo, the Stilinskis would gain four new enforcers—including Derek—and both would gain a new alliance that would strengthen each Family.

The SUV pulled up to the front of the mansion and Derek slid his green eyes to the man on his left, the reason why he was brought into the _Rodzina_ in the first place, the reason why he was currently bruised, bloodied, and banged up. Mieczyslaw Stilinski—Stiles to those in the _Rodzina_ , the _Syn_ to those outside of it—was the only child born to John and Claudia Stilinski, the former the current Head of the _Rodzina_ , making him a prime target to any enemies. The fact that he was also an Omega made him tempting to nearly a third of the population, all Alphas longing to claim the slender male for themselves. Add in the fact that he was mischievous as fuck and rebellious in damn near every way imaginable and it was a miracle that he hadn't already been taken, harmed in some way.

Derek supposed he had a lot to do with that, having watched over the boy for nearly ten years now, since he was just nine. Now over eighteen and a fan of going to the clubs his friend's family owned—which just so happened to be yet another crime family by the name of McCall—he was an even bigger handful, meaning Derek was constantly on alert, constantly following the Omega to places he honestly shouldn't be, constantly on the lookout for anything that might spark trouble.

The night he'd just endured was an example of what could go wrong. Although really, if it hadn't been for Derek and the fact that he was so attuned to Stiles' every emotion, every breath, it could've been a lot worse.

They'd gotten lucky.

He just wasn't sure the _Szeryf_ would agree with that sentiment.

The SUV rolled to a stop beside the front steps, Boyd putting the car in park, and Derek fixed his ward with a hard look. Stiles simply rolled his eyes and waved a hand at him in dismissal, slumping further in his seat, legs spread in a way that was both thoughtless and incredibly tempting. Derek sometimes wondered if Stiles pulled this shit on purpose, played up his Omega nature to get his way, or if he was just careless and clueless. Then again, given the way he was dressed in leather pants that were practically painted on and black collared shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down to his navel, displaying both his unmarred neck and collarbone, Derek got the feeling he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Infuriating little shit.

Granted the red mark on his cheek took away from the overall package, but Derek thought it was deserving.

With one last glare, Derek opened his own door and stepped out of the Escalade into the night, the large hanging lights under the porch eaves, the spotlights along the edge of the house, and the lamps by the fountain providing all the illumination he needed. He adjusted his suit jacket as it hung loosely, feeling the gun in his shoulder holster move under his left armpit, extra magazines under the right. Glancing around, he caught no sign of danger, no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

The front door opened and his head snapped to it, hand slipping under his jacket to palm his 1911 until he saw who was coming. Parrish was the _Szeryf_ 's number two, his _Prawa Reka_ , the one who carried out the orders with no questions or backtalk. Dressed in black slacks and olive green dress shirt, he looked smart and professional, like a businessman rather than someone who'd shot men in the head for so much as cheating the _Rodzina_ out of five bucks in their order. Next to him was Clarke, her black hair pulled back in its usual braid, adorned in the same color scheme as Parrish, except in a pencil skirt and with a black jacket on top of her olive shirt. While Parrish tried to peer around Derek into the Escalade in curiosity, Clarke was glaring at Derek, lips pursed in a way that brought a harshness to her otherwise attractive face.

Not that she ever really smiled. While Parrish had shot men, she had killed them through slower means, preferring knives, pliers, mallets, screwdrivers, icepicks, anything she could get her hands on that made people bleed. She was more sadistic, usually sent to get information in extreme circumstances. If Parrish was the Right Hand, then she was the Left.

Stiles once joked that Derek was the _Szeryf_ 's dick because his father liked swinging Derek around, showing him off. The Bodyguard and Enforcer had scowled at the remark in what felt like an appropriate manner.

Dropping his hand by his side, Derek glanced between the two currently making their way down the steps, Parrish pausing on the bottom, Clarke one above him. He cocked an eyebrow at their presence, curious, confused. Then again, chances were the _Szeryf_ had heard what had gone down and was waiting to rip into Derek and his son—quite possibly literally. He kept his face impassive in a well-practiced manner, his uncle having beaten into him that showing emotion was a weakness that could be exploited. It was how he'd honed a perfect poker face as well as the ability to mask the emotions from his scent, although he frequently let certain ones flood out at opportune moments—anger, bloodlust, aggression—and never hid the musk of an Alpha that he carried, knowing it would get him further.

At that moment though, he kept it all locked up, scent as neutral as the expression on his face.

Clarke's brown eyes zeroed in on his face, searching for weakness as always, darting around as she cataloged the obvious injuries he'd accumulated that night, the dried blood on his knuckles and under his nose, the cut above his left eye that had finally stopped dripping and obscuring his vision. The bruise on his jaw was hidden by his trimmed facial hair but throbbed as he was made aware of its existence once more.

“ _Szeryf_ wants to see you,” she announced without preamble, one corner of her lips turning up just enough to appear as sadistic as the chemosignals she was putting out.

Yeah. The _Szeryf_ had heard.

“One or both?” Derek questioned flatly, watching Parrish out the corner of his eye as the _Prawa Reka_ leaned over to get a peek into the Escalade's interior, ears pricking at the sound of creaking leather as Stiles slid closer on the backseat. Derek cursed himself mentally for not shutting the door when he got out, hiding the Omega and the fact that he reeked of the club: spilled booze, cigarette smoke, lust, weed, and sweat. God only knew what kind of stench would be sticking to him had he been in the main area of the joint, rather than the VIP section he and his friends had holed themselves in.

The fact that he also carried the scent of blood, aggression, and a hint of fear didn't help Derek in the slightest. It was his job to prevent those from ever tainting the Omega and he'd failed.

He could only hope the news had caught the _Szeryf_ while he was in a good mood.

“Just you,” Clarke stated, smirk growing as she folded her arms, telling Derek all he needed to know about their boss' current mood.

Not good.

He nodded once before turning to Parrish, who was now standing straight, curiosity apparently satisfied. “Take Stiles to his room,” he ordered, knowing that he was one of two people who could get away with telling the other Alpha what to do. Everyone in the Manor knew that when it came to Stiles, Derek was to be listened to and obeyed. Parrish also knew that Derek had a higher kill count and better skills and that if it came down to it, Derek would best him in any form of combat. It was why Derek had been assigned as the Omega's Bodyguard while Parrish was with the _Szeryf_. Yes, the elder Stilinski was important and needed to be protected, but Stiles was more so, the future Head of the _Rodzina_ and an Omega. He was beyond value.

A snort came from behind and Derek threw a scowl over this shoulder, lip curling back as a light growl left him. Stiles crossed his arms with a “humph”, turning his head away as he pouted. He didn't dare argue with Derek, not when the Alpha was already in a shit mood, not when the Omega knew he'd already fucked up that night.

Parrish's eyes flicked over to Clarke for half a moment, barely half a second, nothing more than just checking for her reaction. Then, to Derek, he nodded, knowing he had no choice but to do what he was told. Derek stepped out the way and gestured with his hand at Stiles, telling him to get out the SUV.

An eye roll came first before Stiles slid out the backseat, Converses hitting the tarred drive, narrowed orbs aimed at Derek. “I don't need a fucking escort in my own fucking house,” he grumbled, still pouting, forever petulant. Derek fought the urge to Command him, to use his own Alpha persuasion to make the Omega just fucking do as he was told, choosing instead to convey his message with a scowl.

A middle finger was shot in his direction before Stiles made his way up the stairs, Parrish on his tail, letting the Bodyguard know his words had been read loud and clear. He watched the Omega pass through the large door that had been left open by Parrish and Clarke, watched as he took the staircase on the right, watched as he headed up the second set in the center, watched as he disappeared around the corner. Only when the Omega was totally out of sight, Parrish right behind him, did Derek turn to Clarke, expectant eyebrow raised.

Clarke raised an unimpressed brow of her own, never a fan of his since he'd arrived. Derek figured it had to do with the favoritism the _Szeryf_ tended to show him, although Derek himself was never sure if it was because of the Family he'd come from, the position he currently held, or if the Head of the _Rodzina_ just liked him as a person.

Not that it seemed to matter to Clarke.

Nose in the air, she turned on a heel and headed back up the steps, giving Derek no choice but to follow. He heard the Escalade pull away behind him but didn't bother looking, closing the front door behind him before taking in the familiar interior of the mansion.

The place was done in warm golden wood with gold accents and burgundy runners, foyer expansive and reaching up all three floors. Circular staircases framed the open space, leading up to a landing that went straight across, a staircase in the middle of it leading up to the third floor where Stiles had disappeared to. Beneath the landing, Derek could see straight through the wall glass doors to the back patio, the Olympic sized pool, the freshly mowed lawn beyond it, all lit up and making Derek glad he wasn't the comptroller. Fuck knew how large these bills had to be in order to keep a place like this running.

He followed Clarke along the memorized route, up the set of stairs to the right, then the second set in the middle, up to the double doors at the very top. Haigh was in his usual spot outside, sneering derisively at Derek, who simply cocked an eyebrow in a dare. The muscle-head was all talk when it came to the Bodyguard though, always had been, and the Alpha tamped down the urge to smirk victoriously, choosing instead to tip his chin up higher. There was no fanfare or knocking as they drew nearer, just the guard stepping aside so Clarke could open the doors and invite herself in, most likely having been instructed to, otherwise she wouldn't have dared.

The room interior was done just like the rest of the house, burgundy Oriental rug taking up most of the floor space, the wood floors peeking out around the edges. The furniture was leather in a darker shade, furniture all dark cherry wood, lighting warm in contrast to the cold nature of the business that happened within those four walls.

Seated behind the expansive desk on the far end of the room was the _Szeryf_ himself, John Stilinski, dressed in a blue button-down that matched his eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top two buttons undone. His hair was a lot grayer than when Derek had first met him but he was no less intimidating for it. Hell, coupled with the wrinkles framing his narrowed eyes and drawn down lips, it added to the man's hardass aura, letting all known that he'd seen and done some shit and he was not to be fucked with for it. Add in the heavy scent of an Alpha, along with the scents of gun cleaner and smoke, and even Derek had the urge to tilt his head and show him the tattooed side of his neck, both in deference to the Alpha and also to showcase the loyalty he had towards the _Rodzina_ by displaying the ink they'd given him.

He drew to a stop a foot or two away from the desk, standing between two high-backed chairs with his hands clasped in front of him. The doors were closed behind him and Clarke made herself at home in one of the seats, right leg crossed over the left, body angled so she could keep an eye on both their boss and Derek with that same smirk on her face. Derek felt like punching it off her but that was nothing new, wondering if there'd ever come a day when he'd get the chance.

Probably not until she did something stupid to betray the _Szeryf_ —not that Derek had any delusions that she'd actually do that, not when she owed him her and her sister's lives—or the Head passed on and she was no longer so high up on the food chain. Until then, he'd make do with fantasizing about it.

The _Szeryf_ leaned forward, elbows on his desk and hands steepled in front of his mouth, blue eyes never leaving Derek, making him acutely aware of the marks currently marring his face. The elder Alpha narrowed those icy orbs in assessment and Derek felt like a specimen under a microscope, keeping his own green eyes fixed straight ahead at the framed John Wayne movie poster. The current Stilinski Head had always been a fan of cowboy movies and likened himself to a sheriff trying to keep order in a small town, hence the Polish pseudonym of that very title. He didn't wear the boots though, but he did like to carry a couple six-shooters.

Cold eyes slid to Clarke and the _Szeryf_ gave a flat “out” that still managed to be dripping with Alpha Command so strong that Derek was almost compelled to follow through on it, too.

The female's face fell, smirk disappearing, and she looked as though she was about to argue before remembering who she was dealing with. Objections held back, she rose to her feet, shooting Derek a dirty look as though it was his fault she was being left out, heels muffled on the rug as she made her way out.

Nothing was said as the door was closed, enabling the hidden soundproofing in the room. It was a few more seconds before the _Szeryf_ rose to his feet and he meandered over to the bar to the side of his office, opening the ice bucket and plinking a few cubes into a squat glass. “I'm just gonna let you explain the whole thing to me without bothering to tell you what I already know. Easier to fill in the blanks that way.” A bottle of Jack Daniels was picked up, top screwed off, and Derek swallowed hard.

Shit.

He was in deep.

“And before you think about covering Stiles' ass rather than saving your own,” the _Szeryf_ added as he poured the amber liquid into his glass. “Remember that I've been around my son for eighteen years and know the kind of shit he's capable of. I'm sure the entire thing started off as his idea and if you try to convince me otherwise, I might actually consider letting Clarke get at you the way I'm sure she's dying to.”

Derek thought of the various scars littering his body, knife slices and gunshots, not in the mood to add to them. And in all honesty, he wasn't exactly in the mood to save Stiles, not after what had gone down as a result of his behavior, not after the fallout that was surely still coming.

“Stiles wanted to go out and meet with his friends,” Derek began, voice flat, steady, as it always was when he reported in. He'd learned early on with his old Family that it was better to detach himself from what he'd done, leaving him void of emotion when it came to informing whoever was in charge of what had happened. It wound up leaving him void of emotions in a lot of other places, too, but he knew it was better that way. In their business, you were more likely to have friends wind up dead than actually make them in the first place. For his own sake, holding people at arm's length and not getting attached beyond what it took to keep those on your side alive was the best option.

“At first he was planning on going out alone, but when I caught him trying to sneak out via his balcony, I insisted upon escorting him.”

The _Szeryf_ nodded as best he could while also sipping his whiskey and making his way back to his chair. “How is it that you knew he was sneaking out?”

“I put an alarm on his balcony doors.”

Eyebrows went up, impressed, before the Head of the _Rodzina_ schooled his features back into a more impassive expression. “And that's when you headed to True Alpha's.” Statement, not question. He already knew the answer.

So Derek didn't bother giving it. “We met up with the younger McCall Alpha, the female Argent Beta, the Alpha son of the attorney Whittemore, and Lydia Martin.”

Kicking his feet up on his desk and leaning his chair back, the _Szeryf_ nodded, recognizing the names of other Families—although the Whittemores were actually on the up and up, the patriarchal Alpha just happened to represent a lot of the members of the Underground—as well as Lydia, whose reputation also proceeded her. “I assume that's how she was able to clean up the mess so easily.”

“Yes, _Szeryf_.”

The Martins had gone from a group of goons burying bodies in the woods to a well-organized syndicate of their own. On the surface, they were a legitimate cleaning business, taking care of both homes and offices with housekeeping, carpet steamings, and clean-up after large events. To Families like the Stilinskis, the Hales, the McCalls, and the Argents, Martin Cleaning Services now included getting rid of bodies, taking care of crime scenes, and leaving behind no evidence that anything had ever happened. Even the most advanced forensic tech would be hard pressed to find a scrap of trace anything that would alert them to anything having gone down.

They also had a few thugs of their own capable of silencing witnesses through either greasing some palms or sheer intimidation, depending on the situation and the person.

It was why Derek was able to bring Stiles straight home rather than have to dispose of the bodies himself.

The _Szeryf_ nodded once in acknowledgment then gestured at Derek with his squat glass in an obvious sign to continue.

Which...Derek knew he should do. It was why he was there. And in all the years he'd been part of the _Rodzina_ , not once had he crossed the _Szeryf_ or not followed through on an order. So while he was fully prepared to do as he was told and continue on with the story of how things at True Alpha had gone down, he knew that there were certain parts he needed to leave out.

Like the part where Stiles was doing body shots off Scott, nearly got in a fist fight with the Whittemore Alpha, took off his shirt and waved it around his head, and climbed on top of Derek to give him a lap dance worthy of a professional stripper, all body rolls and dirty grinds. Yeah, the _Szeryf_ wouldn't appreciate hearing any of that about his only child, not to mention none of it was really pertinent to the story.

Except for the part where Derek had to excuse himself to the bathroom after getting too many whiffs of his Omega ward's scent thick with arousal and want, Stiles following him a moment later and the Bodyguard snapping at him to go back to his friends. Stupid, really fucking stupid, and totally against his job description. He was supposed to be glued to Stiles' side at all times—except while in the house—and that included trips to the bathroom—as invasive and dehumanizing as it could sometimes be.

And yes, sometimes Derek slacked on that part a little, standing outside the bathroom after checking it was clear and allowing Stiles to do his business in private. Which was what happened that night, Derek stupidly believing that Stiles would stay in the VIP room with his friends, safe under the watchful eyes of Scott and his own protective nature when it came to the Omega—granted the kid was barely eighteen himself and had zero kills and zero desire to ever kill, which more than likely made other families drool in anticipation of the day he took over his family's businesses and could be easily wiped out.

But Derek had underestimated Stiles' determination—and intoxicated idiocy—and while everyone else would've remained in the safety of their hang-out, the fucking fool hadn't. And it was all Derek's fault, for leaving him in the first place, for not Commanding him to stay. Now they were all fucked.

Especially him.

He knew he should come clean with all of it but the last thing he wanted...was to get Stiles in trouble. Fucking stupid really. Stiles was the reason why things had gone to shit, why things were only gonna get shittier, why Derek had spent the car ride back trying to figure out how to lie to his boss, a man who would kill him without hesitation. But years of protecting the little shit meant protecting him from himself, from his father's wrath at times. Meant that Derek was too fond of the asshole and would always look out for him. Meant Derek had unfortunately gotten attached and would do anything to make sure no harm came to him, no matter the cost to himself.

Derek may very well be killed over this, but he was gonna go out knowing that Stiles would be perfectly okay.

“I went to use the bathroom, stupidly thinking that Stiles would be safe. It was a mistake.”

The _Szeryf_ raised a single eyebrow, pointedly saying without words that yeah, it was a huge fucking one.

“Stiles left the safety of the VIP room and his friends in search of a drink I believe and unfortunately ran into Raeken on the dance floor.”

That had the raised eyebrow lowering, both pulling into a deep frown. Derek waited to be questioned about bottle service Omegas or why his friends let him leave—although Derek was sure that was part an inability to stop Stiles when he got an idea in his head and part being wrapped up in sucking each others' faces off—but it didn't happen. Instead, the Alpha dropped his feet off his desk, turning so he was resting his elbows on it once more, leaning towards his subordinate. His bottom lip was pulled down to display his teeth, eyes narrowed, and scent heavy with the spice of anger and aggression.

“Which. Raeken,” he ground out through gritted teeth, hand cranking around his squat glass, making his knuckles white.

It was no secret that the Raeken family were upstarts in the underground, drug peddling assholes who thought they were better than everyone else as they encroached upon territory that had long since been established as belonging to other Families. But more and more, the streets were becoming littered with little baggies featuring an Ouroboros stamp on it: creation out of destruction, life out of death, the symbol of a new Family trying to take over by bringing down ones already at the top.

And the best way to get to the Stilinski _Rodzina_ was to get to Stiles.

“Theo,” Derek answered without hesitation, the careful control he always kept on his emotions slipping at the thought of the asshole Alpha, at his entitlement, at the fact that he thought he could touch what wasn't his. “He was with a few of his goons. I'm not sure if they showed to get at McCall, if they knew Stiles was there, or if the whole thing was a coincidence, but once they spotted your son, Theo went for him.”

The _Szeryf_ let out a few Polish swears that Derek had come to learn over the years, perfectly summing up the situation. Raising his glass, he gestured to Derek to continue before drinking down the rest of it and heading back to his bar for a refill.

“I came out right around the time Stiles was pulling Raeken's hand off his arm. I didn't catch what was said, but knowing Stiles, it was rude and sarcastic. Raeken then punched Stiles and that's when I intervened.”

“Intervening” in this case meant snarling and throwing a punch of his own, knocking the mafioso onto the ground before a couple of his idiot minions jumped him. Stiles had managed to escape the melee—surprisingly enough—rushing off to get Scott while Derek was drawn into a fist fight. A gun had been drawn and shot in the air, clearing the club in a panicked frenzy, and allowing Raeken to slip out as well, most likely trying to escape any cops that would show after a weapon had been drawn. A couple goons that had been left behind became well acquainted with Derek's fists as he tried to pump them for info, getting nothing but blood spit in his fist and a few curse-laden insults thrown his way.

Now all Derek could think about as he relayed the story was that he needed to clean his knife better. A quick wipe on the now-dead bastard's shirt wasn't gonna cut it.

“How many?” the _Szeryf_ questioned, seated once again, taking a sip of his refilled whiskey.

Derek knew exactly what was being asked, that it wasn't how many had shown but how many Derek had prevented from leaving, how many Lydia had had to clean up for him. “Three.”

Slow night. If the club hadn't been so crowded and Raeken's men not such chicken shits, he probably could've taken out more.

Nodding, the glass being placed on the desk as his boss leaned on his elbows again. “Chance of retaliation?”

“Depends on how brave Raeken is feeling,” Derek answered honestly, not entirely sure himself. “He's unpredictable at the best of times and his overinflated ego means he makes stupid decisions. There's a chance McCall sends some of his own guys after him for making a mess of his club, but he may consider that debt paid with the three bodies I left behind.”

“And Stiles?”

Yeah. Stiles.

Something pricked at the back of Derek's neck, his stomach churning in unease, yet he somehow managed to keep his scent and his expression neutral, devoid of any reaction. “I think it would be best if he laid low for a while, didn't go out. Raeken may take it as a personal insult that Stiles had slapped him and turned him down in front of his men.”

Derek didn't bother bringing up the fact that Stiles was an Unmated Omega, young, ripe, and beautiful, making him a fairly attractive target. His Family connections made him all the more enticing and if Raeken were in the mood, he'd snatch the teen up in a heartbeat just to play with him. Fuck knew how much carnage would happen trying to get Stiles back. Derek and the _Szeryf_ both knew they'd flood the city streets with Raeken blood in order to rescue him.

The _Szeryf_ snorted, rolling his eyes. “Good luck explaining that one to him.”

The Bodyguard tipped his chin up, eyes narrowed in determination, feet squarely planted on the rug. “I'll make him understand.” It wasn't a threat, but a promise, an absolute certainty that he'd be able to get through the Omega's thick skull what needed to be done, what was best for all involved.

A dismissive wave of the eyebrows was the elder Alpha's initial response as he picked his glass up. “True. I swear you are the only person I have ever seen, besides his mother, who has ever been able to actually make him do anything without an Alpha Command.”

The tips of Derek's ears grew hot, his stomach twisting and skin prickling once more. It felt like a heavy implication, like there was more to the words than what was on the surface, yet he wasn't entirely sure if it wasn't just his imagination, his paranoia leading him to believe that. There was nothing to make it seem as though it was any deeper than what had been said, nothing to make the _Szeryf_ suspicious or need to imply anything. Totally innocent.

Unlike Derek.

“Nine years of watching his ass, I like to think he's come to realize I know what's best for him.” The words were all true and Derek meant every syllable, but deep down, he knew it was more to it.

Not that he was ever gonna actually admit to it. Especially not to the man before him.

The _Rodzina_ Head hummed in agreement as he drank. “I'm sure the whole Alpha-Omega thing helps, too,” he pointed out, licking excess whiskey from his top lip. “No matter what, I'm not gonna question it. I'm just glad I have you to deal with the whole thing. One less headache for me.” He let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed at his forehead, mood shifting from somewhat light to the previous aggravation, before he gestured at Derek. “Tonight almost sounds like a coincidence and I'm sure that if we confront Raeken, that's what he'll claim. He paid for what he did with three of his men and I'm not in the mood to go starting shit with anyone. Lydia's taken care of shit on her end, we're done on ours, and as for you, I'm not in the mood to fucking deal with it either. Consider this a warning strike.”

Derek felt some of the tension seep out of his shoulders at that, knowing he'd caught a lucky break. Had anything happened to Stiles beyond a single hit, had Derek not killed anyone in response, there was no way he was leaving that room, not with all his body parts in tact. And with the _Szeryf_ 's love of baseball, he knew he had two more chances before he was completely taken out.

Still, getting the first strike after nearly a decade...it spoke to how good he was at his job.

With a single nod, he turned and headed to the door, knowing he was dismissed, knowing the conversation was over. He was reaching for the knob when his name was called and he looked back to find the _Szeryf_ with the landline phone in his hand, the other tapping at the buttons as he dialed.

“Make sure Clarke gives you your marks. Tonight.”

Shit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was common knowledge that only a select group of trusted people were permitted to live on Stilinski property. An even smaller number people, those within the _Szeryf_ 's most trusted Inner-Circle, were allowed to live within the Manor itself. But even then, they were relegated to the second floor, only ever allowed on the third to enter the _Szeryf_ 's office, never venturing in either direction down those halls—save for the staff who cleaned or delivered laundry, but even then, they didn't enter any of the private bedrooms. The West Wing was reserved for the _Szeryf_ , as well as his father, the former Head of the _Rodzina_ who was bed-bound at all times as he slowly wasted away. The East Side was inhabited only by Stiles and his Bodyguard.

Meaning that Derek had to head down to the second floor in order to get to Clarke's room.

Or rather, follow Clarke down to the second floor and her room, since the bitch had hung around outside the office, partially in case she was suddenly needed, partially in hopes she could somehow actually hear what was happening inside through some miracle.

Yeah. Bitch.

While she set up her tattoo machine, Derek tended to his wounds, adding a few paper stitches to the gash above his left eye, cleaning and wrapping his right knuckles, wiping away the blood from under his nose. Afterward, Clarke made quick work of tattooing three new Xs on the inside of his forearm, adding to the row and a half he already had going. It was purely a Stilinski _Rodzina_ tradition and when he'd joined, he'd had the first twenty or so put on in one go, an X for every kill he had racked up while still in the Hale Family. The fresh ink was slathered with A &D ointment then bandaged up and he was free to go, Clarke making a quip about the fact that it didn't make him any better than the rest of them. He refused the bait, calmly closing her bedroom door behind himself then heading back up to the third floor.

Stiles' room was at the very end of the hallway, door closed, annoying skater punk music blasting from inside. Over the years, Derek had learned to tell all the bands apart—a feat he was quite proud of, since it honestly sounded like every single one of them only knew three chords and had the same sneering, snotty singer—and he was pretty sure this one was Rancid, given the harsh rasp in the vocals. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention to the door on the left side of the hall...then froze.

Because despite the muffled music from the room next door, he could quite clearly hear the sounds of a heartbeat coming from his own bedroom, a room that was supposed to be unoccupied and silent.

With trained ease and quiet movements, Derek dropped the suit jacket he'd taken off in Clarke's room onto the floor then slipped his gun out of his holster, fingers wrapping around the textured grips as naturally as anything. He calmed his heart, took three even steady breaths, then in a rush, shoved open the door and stepped inside, sweeping his gun from left to right.

Where a lone figure was off to the side, resting his ass against the edge of the bureau that sat across from his bed.

Not hesitating, Derek grabbed the male by his shirt, hauling him closer before slamming him against the side wall. He kicked the door closed as he put the barrel of the gun under the intruder's chin, tipping his head back and exposing the long column of his throat, getting in his face to let out a growl.

“Are you trying to get us caught, you fucking idiot?” he snarled, teeth pulled back in a sneer.

The initial rush of fear that had colored his scent dissipated into arousal and a smirk spread across his face. Hands were held up in a placating manner, surrendering, pretending to be harmless when Derek knew better. If Stiles were truly harmless, they wouldn't have gotten into that mess earlier at True Alpha's, he wouldn't be hiding out in Derek's room waiting for him, he wouldn't be risking his Bodyguard's life with his stupid behavior.

“I'm just tryna make sure my Bodyguard is in one piece after talking with my father,” Stiles stated, smirk still there, wide eyes blinking in what would've been innocence had it been anyone else doing it.

“Bullshit,” Derek spat, giving the Omega another small shove before stepping back. He reholstered his gun and heaved out a sigh, rubbing at his jaw and twinging slightly when he aggravated the bruise on it. Folding his arms, he stared down the younger man, taking him in, taking in what he was wearing.

Because it was no longer the leather pants and button-down he'd worn out. No, now he was in a black silk robe that reached mid-thigh, long legs bare, the smooth material parted to show off his collarbone and some of the milky skin of his torso. Derek knew that if Stiles shifted just so, the fabric would move just enough to show off his nipples, more than likely pebbled from his actions at the club and the feel of his robe.

The Omega was nothing if not responsive as fuck.

Just thinking about it had Derek's cock give an interested twitch in his slacks and he narrowed his eyes and grit his jaw in response.

“All this sneaking around is going to get us in trouble,” he pointed out, voice holding a rasp that wasn't there previously.

Stiles shrugged a shoulder, lips turned down in a slight pout that basically said “maybe, but who cares”. Was easy for him to be nonchalant about it. It wasn't his life at risk when the _Szeryf_ found out a trusted member of his _Rodzina_ was fucking his barely legal son.

Derek cursed the day Stiles turned eighteen and climbed into the Alpha's bed naked, right at the stroke of midnight, demanding the Bodyguard finally take his virginity. The older man had been half-asleep and weak to the Omega's tempting scent, giving in to what they'd both been craving for years.

It was the first and last time Derek ever let him have control.

Meaning he wasn't about to let the little shit take it now.

“What the fuck makes you think I wanna see you after all the shit you pulled tonight?”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, like the question was so dumb he couldn't possible deign himself to actually answer it. Still, he sauntered his way closer, crossing the yards of space Derek had put between them like it was nothing, stopping barely inches away. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he peered up at the Alpha through long lashes while his hands slid around Derek's waist, slipping under the straps of his holster wrapped around his belt. Derek swallowed hard, the Omega's sweet scent making his head spin and his cock throb as it began to fill. The feel of that lithe body so close to his, the memory of what it felt like to be inside of him, on top of him...it had his blood pumping and his chest rumbling.

Catching up to what was happening and snapping out of the daze Stiles had put him in, Derek snapped a hand out, wrapping it around the younger man's throat. It wasn't hard enough to really hurt or leave a mark—knowing it would get them both in a shitload of trouble if it did—but it was enough to be felt, enough to be a warning, enough to get Stiles' hands to freeze as they curved around the back of Derek's hips.

Tugging his head closer, Derek rubbed his whisker-rough cheek against Stiles' smooth one, put his lips by the Omega's ear and whispered harshly against the sensitive shell. “That's not how this works, _mały_ , and you know it,” he reminded, a warning tone to his words, emphasized by the Polish term he'd only use to rein the handsy boy in.

Stiles shuddered against him, slipping his hands away in a wise move, his head tilting to the side as much as he could under Derek's firm grip. “Yes, Alpha,” came the breath of a response and Derek let a rumble come up from his chest.

“Good boy.” At the whimper Stiles let out, Derek released his hold on the Omega. “Sit,” he ordered, making sure to keep any Alpha influence out of his voice.

Not that it mattered. Stiles was obedient, actually listening for once, really only ever doing what he was told when they fooled around like this. Outside of this room, he was a loud-mouthed rebellious brat who put up a fight when it came to doing literally anything. But inside...

But inside, Stiles gave in to his nature, stopped fighting millenias of Omega instincts that told him to just do what the Alpha said. Inside, he was a good boy, following orders, rarely stepping out of line. Inside, he allowed himself to just _give in_ to what felt good, let the control slip from his grasp and gave Derek the reins he was constantly fighting for in other situations.

Taking three steps back, Stiles sank down to his knees in a smooth, well-practiced motion. His legs parted, as did the black silk covering them, and Derek got a whiff of the teen's arousal, the sweet smell of his slick making his head buzz like he'd had too much sugar, making his cock throb as blood rushed to fill it.

He nodded once in acknowledgment, then moved around to the far side of the bed, removing his gun and putting it on his nightstand. Next he unclipped the holster from around his belt, slipped it off his shoulders and dropped it on top of the mattress, followed by the belt itself. Then he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes and his socks. It was all mindless, stupid routine work, procrastinating what he knew was inevitable the moment he caught Stiles in his room. But each second he delayed it, the more Stiles worked himself up, and the more enjoyable the outcome of the whole thing.

Not that their sessions together were ever not enjoyable. Derek had fun testing Stiles, pushing his limits, playing with him until he was a crying, begging, wet mess, shaking and panting and overwhelmed by it all. If it would be left up to him, there wouldn't ever be a time where Stiles wasn't naked in his bed, covered in their combined come and sweat, his own tears, marked all over with bites and bruises as Derek staked his territory.

But considering their circumstances and who Stiles was, it was never gonna happen. He had to take what he could get and enjoy just that.

And enjoy it he would.

Besides, it wasn't like Derek couldn't mark the Omega at all. He just had to be careful where he left those bruises.

A lazy smirk formed on his face and he rose to his full six-foot height before slowly making his way back around the bed and over to Stiles. He felt like a predator stalking his prey and apparently, the younger man was very much in the same mindset, exhaling shakily. That sweet scent of arousal grow stronger, thicker, and Derek felt his smirk take on a more dangerous edge, lip curled over his teeth. His cock thickened behind his slacks and he resisted the urge to take hold of it, to stroke it to full hardness. It would only take a moment or two for it to reach that level on its own.

Standing before Stiles, Derek towered over him, in much the way their Dynamics demanded they be. His right hand reached out, bandages momentarily catching his eye, the fingers running through the Omega's soft hair before grabbing hold of the brown locks and yanking his head back. A soft gasp left Stiles as he stared up with half-lidded eyes, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hold back any other noise, his breathing heavier and quicker in anticipation.

Derek clicked his tongue in disapproval before popping the lip free with the thumb of his left hand. “You know better than to keep those sounds back from me, _mały_ ,” he chastised, letting the disappointment leak into his scent.

A whimper was Stiles' initial response, followed by a weak “yes, Alpha” edged with a rasp that hadn't been there moments before.

The honorific had his cock fattening up more, pressing insistently against his zipper and it felt like a lifetime ago that he'd been in that club bathroom stripping it as he rushed to get off after this tempting little shit had gotten him hard with his messing around. Really, it was almost demeaning that he'd had to do that, an insult to him as an Alpha. He shouldn't have to take care of his own needs, not when he had a perfectly willing Omega hole to thrust into, not when that very Omega had been the one who'd gotten him in that state in the first place—more than likely on purpose.

Stiles owed him.

“Hands behind your back,” he ordered, immediately obeyed as Stiles clasped his hands against his lower back, chest thrust out both as a result and as an exaggeration, being a little shit once more. “You touch me at any point in time without my permission, this is over. You go back to your room hard, wet, and alone and you will not get yourself off, understood?”

Stiles swallowed hard, nodding as much as he could with Derek's hand still gripping his hair. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Good boy,” he responded, knowing the Omega would actually follow through with the punishment. Yeah, there was a certain amount of trust that would be involved in that, since Derek wouldn't be able to actually watch him twenty-four/seven until the next time they were able to play like this. But they both knew that chances were, Derek would be able to smell it on him, so attuned to the scent of Stiles' come and frustration and arousal, not to mention the fact that the younger man could never get away with lying to him.

Luckily for both of them, he was well-practiced and highly skilled in lying to everyone else around him.

“Safe word?”

“ _Pauza_ ,” Stiles answered steadily, the Polish word for “stop” easily sliding off his tongue in this instance, but not likely to slip out while they were mid-scene. Best kind of safe word really: a foreign one they weren't likely to speak, and one that reminded them both of the Head of the _Rodzina_ , instantly killing the mood.

Derek smiled down at him, close-lipped, feeling a tightness in his chest that he ignored, knowing it was dangerous to acknowledge, much less ruminate on, the meaning behind it. Instead, he slid his hand free from Stiles' hair, down and around to caress his cheek. The Omega leaned into the touch, a pleased hum leaving him.

Until Derek moved his hand away and slapped right over the bruise that had formed there.

“Don't think you deserve any praise after your behavior tonight,” he stated as he pointed a finger in warning, the younger man's shoulders slumping as he was thoroughly chastened. “You can start making it up to me by taking my cock out.”

Stiles' arms flex as though to move around the front of himself before he remembered and tightened the grip on his fingers. Derek bit back any approval, watching instead as the Omega rose up onto his knees and leaned forward enough to nuzzle the Alpha's dick through his slacks. His cock twitched in approval of the attention and he grit his jaw against any sound that may threaten to come out, years of practice keeping his facial expression flat. Stiles mouthed over the bulge and Derek let a warning growl slip out, lip curling up just enough to give a hint of his canine.

“Don't recall telling you to tease me,” he stated harshly, eyes narrowing as he stared down at the younger man.

“Sorry, Alpha,” Stiles murmured, barely sounding repentant, his scent thick with arousal. The Alpha in question huffed in response, standing perfectly still as the Omega before him used his nose to part the fabric of his slacks in order to get to the zipper underneath. His tongue flicked up the pull, teeth catching it, and he dragged it down, separating the two sides. Next he took hold of the fabric above the button hole, tugging it enough to force the button itself to pop out, Derek's slacks effectively unfastened.

The Alpha fought back a proud smile, remembering when he'd first had Stiles do this and the sputtering protests the Omega had let out, remarks over how it was impossible. Derek had ignored it all, had simply stated that if the younger man wanted his cock so bad, he was gonna have to earn it. It had taken a few attempts and lots of practice, but now the Omega not only knew his role, but could perform it admirably, without arguments or mistakes.

Like a good boy.

His cock was hard enough that it was able to part the opening of his slacks without any additional help, no underwear in the way to slow down the inevitable. It felt freeing to go commando, something he never imagined he'd feel. But shortly after he'd started this... _whatever_ this was with Stiles, he'd begun to forgo wearing anything under his pants, the Omega never really wearing any in the first place, the whole thing entirely too convenient. It was strange at first, but now he found it strange to think he'd ever kept himself restrained by an additional layer of fabric.

Stiles moaned at the sight of him, hard and proud, standing upright and waiting. Derek's own eyes dropped down to take in the sight of it, uncut, red and angry, leaking profusely from the tip, obviously pissed that it had been giving such perfunctory attention in that club bathroom: a shitty hand job with only his copious precome as lube and an orgasm that left him feeling empty rather than satisfied. It was the Alpha part of him that lead to him feeling that way, he knew, and he cursed his instincts, refusing to think further on what they meant when it came to the little shit kneeling before him.

The little shit that was surprisingly behaving at that moment, not making another move, despite the fact that his arousal had kicked up another notch.

Derek had apparently managed to do a good job training him in this aspect. Was too bad he couldn't act as good outside the bedroom.

Flicking his green eyes up, he took in the Omega, the rosy tone of his cheeks obscuring the still forming bruise on the left one, his lips hanging open as he tried to regulate his heavy breathing, both wet from his own saliva. Brown doe eyes lifted, peering up at him through long lashes, and Derek was hit once more with the thought that no one person should be that beautiful, especially not one who was such a pain in his ass.

Really, the only thing to do was make a pain in _Stiles'_ ass in a different manner.

But first...

“Get me wet,” he ordered, dick twitching against his lower abdomen. “But don't take me in your mouth yet.”

Stiles licked his lips once more before leaning forward, mouthing sloppily at the base of his cock, at the stretch marks littering the soft skin, at the gland underneath the flesh that would expand and lock him inside his partner. Derek sank his teeth into his bottom lip and clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the sting of healed over scabs cracking. An Alpha's cock was more sensitive than any other Dynamic's, especially where their knot lay, and this little fucker knew that, was exploiting that, was using that to get back in the Alpha's good graces.

Not that Derek could blame him. Or complain really.

Switching tactics, Stiles began using the flat of his tongue, licking broad stripes up the length of him, pausing just under the mushroom head. He rose up and down on his knees, hands still clutched at the small of his back, laving and slurping and getting him wet, just as instructed.

It was something else that Stiles had started out not being very good at, but over time had learned. Granted his first blow job had been full of unbridled enthusiasm, messy and sloppy and barely able to get the job done. Derek'd had to force him to stop at some point, solely because it was just getting awkward and wasn't getting him any closer to completion. Stiles had been determined to get better at it though, a task he was successful in, to the point where Derek asked him who he'd been practicing on.

Turned out it had been a knotted dildo he'd ordered online and spent far too much time training himself to take it as deep as he could, leaning how to move his tongue, when to suck, how to keep his teeth back.

Granted it was nothing compared to the practical application, using those new skills on Derek himself. And while he'd still needed a little bit of coaxing and instructing, Stiles was a proficient learner in that as he was everything else, quickly catching on and becoming practically an expert at giving head.

Much to Derek's pleasure.

The fact that the kid was a total cockslut on top of it was fucking amazing, too.

Rising up on his knees once more, Stiles angled his head so he could swirl his tongue around Derek's head, slipping the tip of it under his foreskin. The mushroom crown was just as sensitive as the flesh around his knot, possibly even more so, and the Alpha couldn't hold back the moan that rumbled from his chest at the sensation. His head fell back momentarily before he lifted it once more to take in the sight of Stiles peeking up at him with a cheeky grin. Derek glowered, peeling his lip back enough to sneer in derision, the Omega wisely returning to his previous task and licking at his slit.

Another groan left him and Derek's right hand moved to the top of Stiles' head, fisting the brown locks there, ignoring the way hair gel crusted under his fingers and the tight pull of his bandage. “Good boy,” he said, voice guttural, biting his lip momentarily. “Take me in your mouth.”

Stiles didn't hesitate, immediately parting his lips and taking the bulbous head in. Using his tongue, he peeled back the foreskin, pausing to suck hard on the crown of Derek's cock and letting out a moan as precome spurted out in response. Derek himself was biting his bottom lip once more, exhaling hard through his nose, loving the feeling of wet heat surrounding his most sensitive organ, loving the intense suction as Stiles tried to pull more of his essence out.

The Omega didn't linger, taking more of him in, pausing halfway before sliding back until just the head was in, then back down, an inch or so past where he'd initially paused, back to the head, the pattern repeating until the tip of Derek's cock was tapping the back of his throat. A moan came from Derek once more before he pushed his hips forward, nudging his way into Stiles' throat. The younger man let out a whimper before relaxing more, angling his head so that he could take all of the Alpha in. When his nose was pressed against Derek's trimmed pubes, the Alpha tightened his grip on his hair, holding him there and letting out a harsh “take it” through clenched teeth.

Another thing Stiles was blessed with: a lack of gag reflex and the determination to train himself to breathe while his mouth was stuffed full.

Keeping a tight hold on brown locks, Derek pulled back until only the head remained once more, then shoved back inside, not giving any warning or a chance to adjust as he buried his entire length in Stiles' mouth again. He also didn't pause there either, instead starting a brutal pace of thrusts, fucking the young man's face. A whine left the Omega, shining whiskey eyes flicking up, almost pleading. But Derek paid it no attention, ignoring the silent desire for him to slow down, to take it easy. Stiles had fucked up that evening, was gonna take it as just the start of his punishment. Hell, if it were up to Derek, he'd wreck the Omega's mouth beyond anything he'd done before, knot it up good and force him to keep his jaw stretched for half an hour as he poured stream after stream after stream of come directly down his throat.

But chances were the little fuck would enjoy that too much. No, tonight was about denying the Omega what he wanted, what he needed. At least until Derek was sure he'd learned his lesson.

Stiles' eyes drifted closed but not before a tear fell down his bruised cheek, powerless against the onslaught. A feral grin formed on the Alpha's face and he pulled out completely, causing a protesting whine to leave the younger man, his eyes opening back up. Derek switched the grip on his hair to his left hand, taking his cock in his right and drawing it all over the Omega's face, smearing him with precome, marking him up. Stiles fought against the hold on his hair as he tried to chase the tip, tried to draw it back into his mouth, only to realize it was futile. Instead, he whined more and let his mouth hang open, slack, tongue sticking out as though he could draw it back in that way.

Was almost cute how he thought he could get what he wanted. Really, if he wasn't so desperate for it, Derek wouldn't have minded fucking his face more, burying in that tight mouth hole of his.

Shame Stiles was gagging for it so bad.

Derek shoved the teen away roughly, forcing Stiles to release the hold on his own hands so he could catch himself with them, landing more on his elbows than anything. A glare was on his face for only a moment, wiped away when his eyes came across the hard length still jutting out from the Alpha's slacks, glistening in the low light of the room from his precome and the Omega's saliva, his own way of marking what was his. A smirk formed on Derek's face as he began stroking himself slowly, not holding back the groan at how good it felt.

“Like what you see, _mały_?” he teased, noting the strong scent of sugar and spice in the air, an Omega's arousal. Stiles had to be soaking at this point, leaking on to the carpet below, that robe of his not made for absorbency.

Pushing himself up, Stiles leaned back on his hands, spreading his legs on automatic as a moan of his own slipped out, eyes going half-lidded where they were fixed on the Alpha's actions. “Yes, Alpha,” he panted.

“You want it?”

“Yes, Alpha.” There was no hesitancy, just another moan as he spoke, his hips rolling as best as they could, his tongue darting out to wet his lips again.

Derek held his cock against his torso, reaching down with his other hand to free his balls, rolling them in his palm. “Like how it tastes?” An absent nod was the response this time, Stiles' chest rising and falling shakily, clearly affected by Derek's behavior. Good. “What's it like?”

Stiles' mouth slammed shut at that and he swallowed hard, cheeks going red for a totally different reason. The sour note of embarrassment swirled in the air, although the arousal was still clear and present. Derek tutted in disapproval, fairly certain he'd trained the little Omega out of this. For all his bravado, Stiles still had issues with communicating what he wanted, was still embarrassed by having to dirty talk himself. 

Strip half naked in a club or wait in an Alpha's room barely dressed? No problem.

Saying what he wanted the Alpha to do to him? Big problem.

Derek turned away, making as though he was about to put his cock back in his slacks, sighing in disappointment. They were never gonna have any fun if the little shit didn't learn to do what he was told.

“Yummy!” Stiles blurted out. “It tastes good, tastes like.” He huffed, frustrated, and Derek smirked with his back still to the Omega. “It's nice and thick with a sort of spice to it. Not like a heated spice, like, like, like a sharpness to it.” He huffed again, hands slapping against his bare thighs. “It's hard to describe, I just know that I love it and I want more of it. I want it to coat my throat and my mouth so that I taste you for days and I want it filling up my hole, marking me inside as yours, fucking me so full of come that my stomach distends and bulges, and then plug me up so I have to keep it all inside.”

The Alpha clenched his fists in front of himself because, fuck him, that sounded amazing. Shit, he'd spend the entire day stuffing the Omega full, fucking his face until his throat was raw and voice was rough, pounding away at him until his hole was stinging from overuse, until he was crying from overstimulation. And every time, he'd come inside his ass, knot him up good, make sure nothing leaked out. Then he'd plug him up, just like Stiles said, force him to keep it in, see how much he could hold until he was begging to let it all out.

If they were any other two people on the planet, they could probably do that. But considering his boss was the Omega's father, considering their roles within this mafia, it was never gonna happen.

Still, it was a good fantasy to have, and Derek had a feeling it was one that would help him through his next Rut.

Really, he should be happy with what he was getting in the first place, with what he was stealing right from under the _Szeryf_ 's nose. That thought in mind, he strode to the chair in the corner, sinking down into the plush velvet with a smirk on his face. He splayed his legs, cock resting against his lower abdomen, throbbing where it had been forgotten. Elbows on the arms and hands clasped on his torso, he nodded his head at the Omega once. “Stand.”

The order was followed immediately, Stiles swallowing hard once more, the humiliation gone from his scent and the air and overwhelmed once more with the desire and need he was clearly experiencing.

“Strip.”

There was no teasing, no show as he had put on at True Alpha's. No, this time he was eagerly undoing the fastening of his clothing, long fingers shaking as they untied the sash of his robe, as he parted the silky material and slipped it off his shoulders, as he let it fall and pool around his feet. His right leg twitched as though about to step forward only to remember he hadn't been told to and Derek's lip quirked up in pleasure and pride.

“Come here.”

The Omega put away all pretenses, all attempts to seduce that he'd been attempting earlier. He knew there was no point, not when it was so clear they both wanted this, not when he knew doing anything beyond what he'd been told would lead to him getting the opposite result. His every step was measured and smooth, his hips rolling naturally rather than exaggeratedly as they had been when Derek came into this room, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides in anticipation and nerves rather than anything else.

Derek held up a hand when the Omega got about a foot or so away and Stiles stopped, remaining perfectly still. The Alpha let himself look his fill, eyes trailing up and down the lithe body before him. Pale skin littered with moles, lean muscles from being active rather than working out, small cock that was typical of his dynamic. His inner-thighs were wet, glistening, leading Derek to believe he'd been right with his earlier suspicions of the Omega leaking slick all over himself.

Not that the heady scent of it hanging thick in the air didn't already give that away. Was still nice to see visual evidence of it, Derek licking his lips at the remembered sweet taste of it.

Slowly dragging his eyes back up, he took in the way the Omega's chest was quivering with shaky breaths, the way his shoulders were held back as he stood perfectly still and straight. Stiles' lips were parted as he took measured breaths, trying to combat the tremble in his every inhale, and his eyes were half-lidded as the whiskey orbs roamed the Alpha seated before him. It made Derek want to preen, want to puff his chest out in pride and show off. Instead, he smirked once more, taking a large inhale and holding the scent of the teen's longing in his lungs.

Right where Derek wanted him.

Getting comfortable, Derek slouched down in the chair, legs spreading as far as his slacks would allow. Stiles' eyes darted down to the space between his knees, then back up, then back down, then back up, like he was dying to be there, as though he believed that was his rightful place. The Alpha part of Derek had to agree with that sentiment, that the best place for an Omega was either on his back or on his knees—as small-minded and barbaric as that felt—yet at that moment, it wasn't where he wanted this particular one.

“Do you think you've made up for your behavior tonight?” he intoned, eyebrow raised in question and also in challenge, daring the younger man to argue.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Stiles' eyes dropping to his own long feet, head shaking before he let out a low “No, Alpha.”

Let it never be said that the kid was an idiot.

Derek slowly nodded once in agreement then gestured to his thighs. “I want you in my lap, ass up, head down, arms holding you up, understood?”

Stiles frowned and his fingers silently tapped a rhythm against his thighs as he seemed to think it over, trying to work out the mechanics of it. Derek knew it was possible, knew it would be hard for the Omega to hold himself up, further adding to his punishment. He simply waited the teen out as he tried to come up with a way to get into that position in the first place.

He started with a nod before stepping over, moving to the side of the chair. Then he swung a leg over the Alpha's lap so his back was to the older man's chest, settling his feet and adjusting his stance before finally bending over and putting his hands on the floor between Derek's feet. The older man loved the sight of that plush ass directly in front of his face, two round globes tempting him to sink his teeth in and mar the otherwise perfect skin, to grab hold and stretch them apart before burying his face in between and simply _feasting_.

But he held back.

Instead, he grabbed hold of the teen's legs and hauled them up, ignoring the surprised “whoa!” Stiles let out in response. He maneuvered the boy into the position he wanted, Stiles now braced on his forearms, his legs bent with his knees on the chair on either side of Derek's hips, the bottom halves raised along the back of it. Derek sat up straight, the Omega's hard cock now mere inches from his own, and he had to fight the urge to raise his hips to rub them together, to tease them both.

Maybe some other time. Not tonight. Tonight, he had a lesson to drive home.

Staring down at the treat on his lap, he took in the way Stiles' cheeks were forced apart by his position, hole on display. The pink bud was open already, glistening and tempting. It would be nothing to slip a finger inside given how stretched it was from Stiles' arousal alone. His hands cupped the fleshy globes before him, squeezing, thumbs dangerously close to where he wanted to sink into. He could hear the sharp intake of breath coming from below, watched as the Omega's entrance quivered closed with it before opening up once more, inviting him in with the heady scent of need.

“Relax, _mały_ ,” Derek murmured, hands stroking down the Omega's thighs, feeling the smooth skin.

The muscles on his ass flexed as his back arched, trying to put himself more on display, and Derek had to hand it to him, the kid knew how to give in to his instincts, how to put himself on display to try and lure an Alpha in. On a weaker man, it would work.

With his left hand, Derek traced the weak spot on the back of Stiles' knee. With his right, he raised it up then brought it down on his bare ass with a loud slap.

Stiles let out a gasp, hips rocking and body rolling forward in response. A groan followed and Derek watched as Stiles' head dropped onto the floor, submissive. No complaints, no whining, no objections. He took what was given to him like the good boy he was supposed to be.

“Stiles?” he prompted, warning edging the name, as his hands returned to that beautiful round butt, feeling it flex as he tensed all over.

“One,” came the muffled response.

“Good boy.” His hand rubbed the right cheek, feeling how hot the flesh was compared to the other side, blood rushing to the surface in response to the spank it had received. “You've earned ten. You lose count, stop counting, or come, we stop and you go to your room, understood?”

“Yes, Alpha.” No hesitation. They both knew how this worked.

The next hit was on his left cheek to even it out, Stiles gasping once more before stating an even “two”. Back to the right for “three”, the left for “four”, Derek alternating sides up to number eight, the count getting shakier with each slap. Number nine hit directly over the Omega's hole, causing him to convulse on Derek's lap as he cried out in both shock and arousal. Stiles took several gasping breaths, trembling, and Derek was about to give up on the entire thing when a rasping “nine” was groaned out. With a wicked smirk, the Alpha landed number ten in the exact same spot, a squelch sounding out with the action, his hand coming away wetter, bandage stained with splattered drops of slick. Knowing Stiles couldn't see, he gave in to the temptation of laving the juices off his fingers, keeping any noises to himself as a weak “ten” was gasped out.

The Omega was trembling but had still somehow managed to remain in position, despite the squirming after the last two hits. Derek rubbed his hands over the reddened globes of his ass, flesh heated, and relished the whimpers that came in response from below. But Stiles didn't object or call out his safe word, meaning he wasn't ready to end it all. Squeezing the cheeks, Derek parted them, giving himself a better view of that wet entrance he was honestly dying to be in, stretching it. The rim was redder than before thanks to the slaps he'd just given it, wetter, shinier, and he rubbed it with both thumbs in a tease.

An elongated groan came from Stiles and he damn near slid onto the floor. Derek could feel his toes curl against his back, feet bending back, watching as the Omega arched his spine to put himself more on display. Normally he'd have zero problem with sinking his fingers right in, finding that bundle of nerves inside that never failed to reduce the teen to a fucking mess of tears and pleads.

Not that night though. He wasn't done teaching his lesson.

“On the bed, on all fours, ass to me,” he instructed, voice rumbling with a huskiness that hadn't been there before. “I want you to stretch yourself open without touching your prostate or playing with yourself, understood?”

A whine escaped before Stiles managed to cut it off and give a rough “yes, Alpha”. With great care and shaky legs, he crawled off the chair onto the floor and across to the king size bed. Despite the massive amount of space where he could situate himself, he chose to set up on the corner closest to Derek, practically diagonal on the mattress. But he did as he was told, ass towards the Alpha, back arched as he rested his weight on a shoulder on the bed, reaching back to grip one of his cheeks with his left hand as the right went straight to work. His middle finger slid inside with no issues, the Omega letting out a low whimper in response to having _something_ inside him.

Derek let the noise pass without comment, knowing it was just instinct and not as a result of Stiles doing something he wasn't supposed to. Instead he focused on the perfunctory thrusts the teen performed with his finger, loosening himself up before slipping his index finger inside himself.

The curse that Stiles breathed out in response went right to Derek's dick, the hard length twitching against his abdomen and reminding him of how it had been ignored over the past ten minutes or so after having been inside the warmth of the Omega's mouth. He wrapped a hand around himself, bandage rough, and squeezed just to feel something, keeping an eye on Stiles' movements. Fuck, he knew this was supposed to be a punishment for the Omega, depriving him of any contact with an Alpha when feeling needy, not having an Alpha stretch or prep him. It was almost cruel to do it, to mess with his instincts that way, but it was the only way Derek could think of to really drive home how wrong what he'd done was.

It was just unfortunate that it also felt like he was punishing himself.

And maybe he was. Maybe on a subconscious level he felt as though he deserved it. After all, he'd broken one of the commandments of his job by leaving Stiles alone in that VIP room to go jerk off in a bathroom. Not to mention the fact that he was sleeping with the kid in the first place. He'd taken the Omega's virginity, had taken and molded him into the needy little cockslut before him who would follow his Alpha's every command in the confines of their bedroom. That definitely didn't fall under the description of his job and he knew that if the _Szeryf_ found out, he'd suffer more than just the sadistic hands of Clarke.

But still. As he sat there lazily stroking himself, listening to the gasps of the fair skinned boy before him as he added a third finger, he felt as though whatever tortures the bitch put him through would be worth it. After all, he got to taste Stiles, got to see him come apart, got to hear the sounds he made in the throes of ecstasy, got to claim him—as temporary and unofficial as it always was.

Hard to be scared of Hell when you'd already experienced Heaven.

He waited until Stiles was easily moving four fingers in and out, until he was shaking from holding himself in the same position, trembling from being forced to tease himself. It had to be difficult to be stretched and filled by something that wasn't what he wanted, that wasn't hitting anything that he wanted or needed to hit. Even now he was letting out little whines despite himself, despite the fact that he was trying to hide them by biting his lip and burying his face in the comforter. Was almost cute, if Derek let himself believe the Omega was holding them back due to pride rather than not wanting to appear as though he was enjoying what he was doing to himself.

Rising to his feet, Derek slowly made his way over to the bed, to the Omega sliding four fingers in and out of himself with ease. The scent of him, the sight of that slick glistening, the sound of breathy gasps, it all added up to an arousing combination that had Derek's head spinning and growl escaping his clenched jaw. A whimper left Stiles at that and he shifted as best he could to display the side of his neck. The Alpha had to stop himself from hauling the lithe figure up against his muscular one so he could bury his face in that exposed skin, inhaling his tempting scent from the source before sinking his teeth in and Marking the Omega as his.

Another fantasy that would never come to fruition, he knew, but it didn't stop the images from flooding his mind.

Later. Those were daydreams for later when he was alone. Right now, he had a needy Omega kneeling on his bed, presenting himself, fingering himself, and smelling oh so ready for the taking.

“Stop,” he ordered, swallowing hard to rid his voice of the harshness that had taken over.

Stiles followed the command immediately, hand freezing with his fingers inside. It was then that Derek noticed the trembling in his legs, his arm, both from the need and from holding himself so still. Poor thing. Derek almost felt like giving in, like giving him what his body was crying out for.

Almost.

“Take your fingers out. Slowly.”

Again the order was followed the second it was stated, Stiles taking his time as he slipped those long digits out. A glob of his slick followed, slowly dripping down his taint and onto his balls. Ordinarily, Derek wouldn't mind licking it up, following it back to the source and indulging in more. Stiles didn't deserve it though. Neither did Derek, not that night.

Instead, he spread the Omega's cheeks, exposing him, then slipped the index and middle fingers of each hand into his hole to further open it. A desperate breathy whine left Stiles and he arched his back so hard Derek was surprised it didn't snap, pushing his ass up further, silently demanding more. Derek didn't give in though, simply admired the teen's work, admired the shine and wetness of his natural lubrication, admired how pink and open he was. On a whim, he spat into the gaping hole, making the younger man gasp, then slipped his fingers back out. He slapped both cheeks before taking a couple steps back, readying his next command.

“On your back, head hanging off the edge, hands by your sides.”

Stiles took a shaky breath before complying, laying on his back perfectly straight across the bed, practically perpendicular with the end of it. It took him a bit of shuffling but he managed to get into the right position, neck arched beautifully as his head hung off the side. He wet his lips and swallowed before opening his mouth without being told to, more than likely knowing what was coming next.

Clever boy.

Stepping over, Derek stood over Stiles, legs spread. The bed was tall enough so that his head was at the perfect height but he did nothing to try and coax Derek in his mouth, did nothing to tease him, simply waited. A small smirk turned up one side of Derek's lips and he reached out with one hand, slick still staining two of his fingers, caressing the Omega's throat. The skin was pale, smooth, just like the rest of him, and it was so easy to wrap his fingers around it and squeeze. Not enough to choke or hurt, just enough to exert pressure as a warning.

A whimper left Stiles, his hips rolling and hands clutching the comforter below him. His chest was flush and his skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and he looked absolutely beautiful in his needy state. Derek's hand slid down from his neck to his chest, squeezing one of his thin pectorals before continuing his abdomen. He paused at the trail of hair leading from his belly button down to his cock, scratching his fingers through it and loving the whines Stiles was letting out in response, legs twitching as he tried to hold them still and fight the way his hips were trying to buck once more.

Both hands by the jut of Stiles' hip bones, Derek scratched his way back up his torso, leaving red lines in his wake. It was a way of marking where he'd been, as well as making sure they'd easily heal and would be kept out of sight when he pulled that bullshit of his shirts only being halfway buttoned. A swear was breathed out, warm air hitting Derek's still exposed cock, fingers clutching that comforter even tighter.

Straightening back up, Derek took himself in hand and wasted no time in sliding himself back into Stiles' mouth. Stiles groaned like he was the one being engulfed, legs shuffling and shifting against the bed. Derek stared transfixed on his throat, watching it bulge as his cock slipped down it, reaching out to rub and caress it once more. He gave himself a moment to enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by wet heat once more before he returned to his previous pace, thrusting into his throat as though fucking his hole.

Stiles could only lay prone, white-knuckling the duvet, whines and moans escaping him as often as he was capable of letting them out. Derek himself was done holding back his own responses, groaning in pleasure each time he was swallowed, each time he felt the tip rub against the back of Stiles' throat, each time he felt himself being massaged by the Omega's muscles working him.

He fucked the Omega's mouth at a brutal pace, barely giving him time to adjust or relax into it. But from the reactions coming from Stiles, he wasn't about to complain or object or tap out. And Derek wasn't in any mood to stop, hands braced on the bed on either side of the younger man for better leverage as he practically pounded away into him. He felt hot all over, low growls leaving him in a steady stream, pleasure racing down his spine as his balls began to draw up tight.

Which was when he pulled out.

As much as he was dying to come, he couldn't, not yet. He wanted to mark this little asshole, to claim his property and coming in his mouth wasn't the way to do that. No, he needed to pound into his greedy little hole to remind him of who was in charge, who he belonged to.

“Turn around,” he instructed, stepping back. “Ass on the edge.”

Stiles did as he was told, just like before, sitting up before spinning around. More shuffling and his ass was right on the edge of the bed, feet planted on either side, hands gripping the comforter as before. Doe eyes peered up at Derek, chest rising and falling harshly, lips parted as he struggled to breathe normally.

Christ, he was damn near wrecked already and he hadn't even been touched, not really anyway.

“You want this?” Derek asked rhetorically, gripping his cock around the base to stave off any impending orgasm, to bring himself down a few notches.

Stiles' eyes dropped right to it, tongue wetting his lips on automatic. “Please, Alpha,” he breathed out, hips rolling as best they could.

“Think you deserve it?”

Distress turned the Omega's scent salty and it was obvious the way his eyes flicked away momentarily that he was thinking about lying. But he knew better, acting like a good boy and being honest. “No, Alpha.”

Derek let the prideful smile form on his face before he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. “What lesson did we learn tonight?”

Stiles seemed to seriously think about that one, swallowing hard as he considered it, eyes moving as he thought it over. “To stay put when you leave.”

Okay, not what Derek was expecting, although it was a very good point that he'd honestly hoped the Omega had picked up on.

“To not do anything to expose either of us or what we do with each other, even if it's only Scott and he'd never say anything, even under pain of torture.”

Derek doubted that. It had been drilled into him from an early age that no one outside of Family was to be trusted with anything. Hell, even sometimes, Family themselves couldn't be trusted. It was only after years of being with the Stilinski _Rodzina_ that he'd learned he could trust any of them and even then he could count them all on one hand.

Scott however...

Scott was someone Derek barely knew, despite the amount of time Stiles spent hanging out with him, having practically grown up with him as their Families did business together. There was no guarantee he'd keep his mouth shut about anything, not to mention the fact that the guy was kind of a dumbass in every day life and there was always the chance he'd let something slip without realizing it.

Derek took no chances with anything, especially not when it came to the lives of himself or Stiles.

Shirt now unbuttoned, Derek slid it down his arms and tossed it onto the chair he'd previously been seated in, figuring he could put it in the laundry later. Stiles' eyes immediately began roaming the exposed skin, the scars littering his torso, the black ink on his collarbone stating “ _Bás Sula Dífhostú_ ”: “Death Before Dishonor”. His hand twitched as though he was about to reach out and touch, only to think twice and tighten his grip on the comforter instead.

Derek's smirk grew, something dangerous and deadly and _hungry_ , and he wrapped his fingers around his cock once more. “Pull your legs back, _mały_ , and hold them there. Let your Alpha see what you've got for him.”

A groan escaped Stiles as his head tilted back, but he still did as he was told, tucking his legs up against his chest before reaching down and spreading himself once more. He was wetter than ever, his entire crack glistening, and fuck, if it wasn't a beautiful sight. Derek had planned to finger the teen until he was about to come, to edge him for a while until he was crying and begging and the lesson had _really_ been driven in but now...

Now his own cock was crying out in need and he was beyond hard and he didn't think he'd be able to take another minute not being buried in that tight, wet hole.

Done denying both of them, Derek took himself in hand, lined his cock up, and pushed inside.

Fucking Stiles was dangerous on several levels. For starters, there was the fact that he was barely even legal. Then there was the fact that he was the son of Derek's boss, further compounded with the fact that his boss was the head of a mafia Family. On top of that, he was an Omega, meaning he was twice as protected by his old man. It was archaic, but Alphas watching over Omegas to the point of physically harming—or even killing—those who were deemed a threat still happened, especially in worlds like theirs. Plus there was always the chance that Stiles may be used as some sort of bargaining chip, a way to bring Families together through Mating him off to some Alpha in another Family.

But the most dangerous part of it all was how much Derek didn't give a fuck about any of that. Because every time he slid inside of Stiles, it was like coming home. Super fucking cheesy and he hated the thought, but that didn't stop it from coming to him every single time he bottomed out in his hole. No, it felt like he belonged there, like he was supposed to be fucking, knotting, and filling this little Omega, _his_ little Omega. His _storeen_ , little treasure.

An elongated groan came from said Omega as he was breached, as he was filled, fingers tightening their grip on his ass. If the flesh still stung from his earlier spanking, he didn't show it, instead gasping out a laugh in pleasure and a sense of being overwhelmed. Derek echoed the sentiment internally, head lolling back at the sensation of being surrounded once more, Stiles' wet heat entirely engulfing his cock, welcoming him once more.

Once more, he didn't bother giving either of them a chance to adjust, pulling all the way back out with a pop. Stiles literally bit back an objection, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, doe eyes staring up at him in a pleading manner. Derek thrust all the way in once more, not stopping up fleshy globes were against his thighs, repeating his exit, then his reentry, then exit, over and over until he'd decided he'd had enough. Bracing his hands on his lower back, he started thrusting inside the Omega in earnest, making sure the only points of contact was his cock inside and his hips hitting his ass.

Stiles was crying out every time he was filled, hands slipping to the back of his knees. He'd always been vocal, from the first time Derek had taken his cock in hand, to now when Derek was circling his hips in a dirty grind and forcing out an “oh fuck, yes”. He'd been an enthusiastic student, learning the art of sex, from foreplay to full on fucking, and now that enthusiasm was spilling over into repeated gasps of ascent.

If nothing else, consent was never an issue.

“Oh, fuck, Der, Alpha, _God_!” he cried out and the Alpha grinned wide, biting back any cliches over how Stiles didn't have to acknowledge his godly status. Instead, he spread his feet further apart and angled his hips so that his every thrust in rubbed right against his prostate. The Omega cried out louder than ever, alerting Derek to the fact that his aim had been successful—not that he had any doubt in that aspect—his head falling back and back arching. His hips rolled on automatic, in rhythm with the Alpha's pounding into it, hole squeezing around him tight as though trying to keep him inside.

Not that Derek was all that eager to be out. Not when Stiles was so wet and warm and hugged him so fucking good. Not when he'd carved a place out inside the Omega to keep them connected. Not when everything about this felt absolutely fucking right, despite everything around them saying it was absolutely fucking wrong.

Soon, the Omega's breathing was coming more rapidly, short little huffs, his stomach muscles quivering. His jaw dropped and seemed to stay locked like that, his brow pulling up in the center as whiskey eyes gaze up at Derek, wordlessly begging. Half-formed swears punctuated Derek's every entrance and it was clear the teen was getting close, was about to come.

So Derek pulled out.

“ _Fuck_! Goddammit,” Stiles whined, head slamming back against the mattress. “Please, I'm so close.” He lifted his head back up to make eye contact with Derek once more, Derek who stood stoic and unmoved by the display and the begs. “I need—I need, please, just, I _need_ —”

“Present,” Derek ordered flatly, proud that he didn't sound as shaky as he felt, proud that he was able to mask his own desperate need. The Alpha part of him was growling in his head, pissed that they were no longer connected, that his Omega was so desirous and wanting and they weren't doing anything to fix that.

Soon, he placated himself. Soon.

Stiles' eyes widened at that, his bottom lip pulling down into a pout, and he released his grip, his legs falling down with his feet flat on the mattress. “Knot me, _please_ ,” he whined and Derek knew that the little Omega had learned his lesson, had learned his place and as such, was reaching out for his Alpha's approval and connection.

But Derek wasn't in the mood for any requests, wasn't in the mood to be backchatted and his orders not follow. His brow pulled into a hard glare and he repeated his earlier command with a growl. “ _Present_.”

Teeth sank into his bottom lip but Stiles finally did as he was told, whimpering as he rolled over onto all fours, weight rested on his knees and forearms, head pressed against the mattress. He was shaky, but there was no telling if it was due to his Omega nature telling him he'd fucked up by pissing off an Alpha, or the fact that he'd been so close to orgasm and was beyond keyed up.

Derek made him wait, finally removing his slacks and tossing them onto the chair with his shirt, leaving him fully naked. Grabbing hold of the Omega's hips, he pulled him back until he was in the right place, knees damn near off the bed, then folded himself over the lithe teen. One hand snaked up his front, cupping Stiles' chin and raising his head so he could murmur in his ear.

“There was never any doubt that you wouldn't end your night hanging off my knot.” His voice was a rumble and he felt Stiles shudder against him in response, his hips flexing and rubbing his cock between two soaked cheeks on automatic. “I need to remind you who you belong to.” At that, he released his hold on the younger man, grabbing his dick at the base and pushing himself inside once more.

“You!” Stiles cried out as he was breached, his head falling slack as Derek rose to his full height. “You, you, it's always been you. Ever since you showed up and I first scented you, I've been yours. Nothing will ever change that.”

The words were like a bullet in Derek's chest, stinging and burning just as badly as the real thing piercing his flesh. It was what he'd always wanted to hear and what he'd always dreaded to hear, the knowledge that Stiles was his and the knowledge they could never be. He screwed his eyes shut tight against the onslaught of emotions, schooling his features into the mask he'd been taught to wear. Then he pulled back and slammed into his Omega.

Derek held nothing back as he pounded away, letting every raw emotion come out with each thrust. This wasn't just fucking; this was a rutting, a claiming, a breaking of the Omega so that no one else could ever take his place, go where he'd been. He was marking his territory, planting his flag, whatever other stupid fucking cliché there was, letting the world know this was his, he'd been here. Bending down, he sank his teeth into the flesh over Stiles' shoulder blades, knowing he couldn't bite over his neck in the way his instincts were crying out for him to, knowing he couldn't not leave his mark with his teeth at all. Stiles cried out louder and higher than before, a hand slamming against the mattress and fisting at the duvet, begging for more with each exhale that was forced out of him.

And Derek gave it to him, covering his back with teeth impressions, with bruises he sucked, with scratches caused by his nails. He felt animalistic, completely gone on this gorgeous Omega beneath him, the one who could do nothing against the forceful rutting of his Alpha except take it.

And take it he did, incredibly, beautifully. His body was shaken back and forth, out of his control. His hair was mussed up by the duvet where he tried to dig in then by Derek's hand pulling at it, raising his head to lick and suck at his neck and throat, just shy of leaving any marks. And when Derek put a hand over his mouth to stifle his increasingly loud cries, he sank his teeth in the webbing between his index and thumb, drawing blood from the Alpha and causing his knot to instantaneously inflate to half its size rather than slowly grow like it usually did.

“Cheeky little shit,” Derek chastised, smacking his ass hard, and making Stiles gasp then grin.

“Wan' it,” he slurred, flexing and working his hole so that his inner walls massaged the growing bulb, coaxing it to get bigger. “Wan' feel you. Wan' be tied to you forever.”

Derek breathed out a swear, nosing at the Omega's sweat damp hair, hand now wrapped around his throat once more. “ _A rúnsearc_ ,” he whispered against the shell of his ear, making the sensitive teen shiver. “Come for me, _mały_.”

Stiles nodded as best he could in Derek's grip, still working his passage, the Alpha's knot now grinding against his prostate. When they'd first started doing this, he'd have to reach down and take hold of his own cock, needing the extra stimulation to get himself off. But Derek had trained him out of that, too, had trained him how to come like a _true_ Omega, with just a dick inside him, his prostate a better sex organ than the measly excuse of a cock he had between his legs.

“ _Now_ ,” Derek growled and Stiles gasped as he tensed all over, a beautiful mix of a whine and a groan leaving him as he shot out, squeezing hard around the Alpha and taking him for all he was worth. And just like every good Omega should, he milked his Alpha's cock until Derek was stiffening above him and spilling inside, a steady growl emanating from his chest as he pressed his forehead into the crook of Stiles' neck and fought the instinct to bite down.

One day.

No. Never.

He shoved aside the melancholy that threatened to overtake him, refusing to be brought down after a mindblowing orgasm, after having restaked his claim on his bratty Omega. Instead, he focused on the closeness he felt, the heady scent of come and sex hanging in the air and the satisfaction emanating off the boy beneath him. Rising up to his full height, he hauled Stiles up against his chest, ignoring the protesting whine at being jostled, then kneewalked on the bed over to the pillows. It took some maneuvering and a few hisses as his knot was tugged at, but he managed to get them both laying side by side, spooning on top of the duvet. Part of him was mentally cursing at not having the forethought to turn down the comforter before they started, but he brushed it aside, figuring if Stiles got cold, he'd just personally warm him up the best he could.

Stiles himself was smiling dopily, eyes closed, hand reaching back to cup the side of Derek's neck right over the tattoo the _Rodzina_ had given him, the outline of the Polish Eagle symbol. It was the closest to getting marked by Stiles he would ever come, the closest to being claimed by the Omega he could ever be, and most nights it was enough.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it that night.

Fingers covered his own where his arm was draped over Stiles' middle and he laced them together, squeezing them. For all the shit Stiles put him through, the way he endangered their lives and the headaches he induced, Derek couldn't help but feel this connection to him, couldn't help but _need_ it, need Stiles himself. Earlier thoughts of finding home with the Omega came back and he was tired enough to let them come, to warm him up as he nuzzled the back of the teen's neck.

“One day you're gonna have to tell me what _a rúnsearc_ means,” Stiles grumbled, voice raspy from all they'd done that evening, and Derek snorted derisively against his hair.

“I don't have to tell you shit,” he argued, nipping the base of his neck and relishing the way his knot was squeezed in response.

“In that case,” Stiles began, grinning cheekily as he turned his head to peer up at Derek, the Alpha raising an eyebrow as he recognized the mischievous tone. “I'm not entirely sure I learned my lesson and I think you should reteach it to me in about half an hour.”

Meaning when Derek's knot went down.

Brat.

Derek smothered his hand over the Omega's face, scowling at the chuckles that ensued as Stiles fought him off before the two of them resettled into their previous cuddling. A calm washed over them both and Derek pressed a kiss to the spot where he'd most like to leave a Claiming bite on his _a rúnsearc_.

His secret love.

**Author's Note:**

>  **  
> **  
> TRANSLATIONS:  
>   
> 
>  _Rodzina_ – Family (Polish)  
>  _Syn_ – Son (Polish)  
>  _Szeryf_ – Sheriff (Polish)  
>  _Prawa Reka_ – Right Hand (Polish)  
>  _Mały_ – little one (Polish)  
>  _Pauza_ – stop (Polish)  
>  _Bás Sula Dífhostú_ – Death Before Dishonor (Irish)  
>  _Storeen_ – little treasure (Gaelic-Irish)  
>  _A rúnsearc_ – secret love (Irish)


End file.
